The button sown into the
underside of my favorite winter coat
(right above the heart)
was, after all, a promise.
I was sad to lose it.
You’d asked me not to forget
the day of the march, all the hullabaloo of
an angry crowd and you, shielding my
face with a calloused hand.
I was sad to lose you.
Even though you made me
uncomfortable more often than warm,
if I ever found you again, I wanted to have practiced
the art of indifference to small annoyances.
I was sad to lose.